Grief
by Kirk4ever
Summary: Harry is back after 5th year, and missing Sirius. New powers are unlocked, and the Durselys are being ... nice? Cancelled see profile for details.
1. A First Realisation

Grief

As you can properly guess, this is set about a week after the end of book 5, so I am thinking maybe a month after Padfoot died. How does Harry cope with the grief? This can be read as a one shot, but I think I may carry on writing from this angle.

Harry woke up with a start; his hand sub-consciously clutching his forehead where a thin lightning bolt shaped was a deep red. The dream was so real, and those red, red eyes… they haunted his mind day and night; asleep and awake. Lord Voldemort's snake like face would bring fear into any grown man's eyes, but Harry Potter was only a boy, albeit an irregular one. He wasn't afraid of the terrorist, rather he felt a deep longing to rid the world of the man once known as Tom Marvolo Riddle.

The raven-haired boy struggled to remember the details of this latest ordeal, but all he could drag up was a silver hand, red eye slits and talk of a new potion. Potter didn't want to concern Professor Dumbledore, but someone had to know that Voldemort had, once again, entered his mind.

Who should he call?

Sirius!

But…

Wait…

Sirius died about four weeks ago. How could he have forgotten?

The memories of the veil still preoccupied Harry's mind most of the day, but in those moments between asleep and full awareness, the memories had been submerged in the back of his psyche. The boy felt tears come to his dry eyes, and lay back down amongst the sweat-soaked covers to let them come. He had not cried in those first three weeks, but now at 'home' where no-one could either see or hear his sobs, the small teen wept for the family he had know for just two short years

Grief creeps up on you, overwhelms you, and then leaves, ready to strike again another night.

I do now have an idea for another chapter, but if no one wants it then I probably wont write anything else for this one. I might do a little Christmassy thing (probably quite emotional) and with enough motivation I could even turn this entire storyline into an epic type thing!

Anyway, this story had now been edited, and now I expect at least one review! Come on people, I got none the first time around!


	2. Summer's Start

I decided to write a bit more, but i am completely making it up as i go, so dont expect a masterpiece or anything!

* * *

Harry wandered around aimlessly for the rest of that day – the Dursleys had an unspoken agreement with him, one where each party would leave the other alone.

The Potter lad spent his early mornings in bed, late mornings staring at his ceiling, afternoons reading and evenings doing homework. During meals, Petunia would screech for her nephew, he would slowly walk down the stairs and the family would eat in silence. Afterward, Harry would load the dishwasher and then trudge back up to his room and continue to stare at the ceiling, or work. After hearing the prophecy, even the laziest of 15-year-olds would wish to work harder in the future.

Most, however would not the try to hide his achievements from his school. Since Harry was very small, his family would punish their nephew if he did well in school, and so, a five year old learnt that he should not do better than Dudley. His reception teacher had seemed shocked when the eager young child with raven hair had stopped working. After the first term at primary school, Harry knew that he was smarter than a lot of kids in his year, and no effort was needed to beat Dudley in tests – Harry could already read when he started school. Even when Dudley's shadow was ripped from his cousin, the boy would not do his best at Hogwarts. Sure, Harry knew all the spells, he could probably beat Hermione if he tried just a little bit, but why should the boy who lived do good work with no-one to care about his marks?

Every summer, Harry revised his work when he had time, but this year, he did more than ever before. He had ordered some books from Flourish And Blots, and in less than two weeks, was OWL level for both arithmacy and ancient runes – they might come in useful when the boy next had to fight Voldemort. Instead of using his wand, a stick from the garden served as his wand, after all, how can you get into trouble without using a wand?

Very soon, Harry decided that he should start on his sixth year books if he was really serious about the studying, and he ordered the Standard Book Of Spells Grade 6 and requested a sixth year level Defence book; two days later saw the boy eagerly awaiting his owl. He spent most of his free time studying them and practising wand movements for new spells. He was finished in less than a full week. (that may seem fast, but think about it – he isn't doing anything else)

Harry had not received any owls from his friends this summer – so far, he kept telling himself – Harry supposed that Dumbledore had forbidden it. Mrs Weasley probably thought that he shouldn't be smothered after … It … so Ron and Hermione were almost certainly told to leave him alone to grieve. The boy decided that he needed to keep busy to stop thinking about Him and Him2 – and revenge.

After just two weeks of the summer, Professor Dumbledore wrote him a letter.

_Dear Harry,_

_If it is convenient to you, I shall call at number four, Privet Drive this coming Friday at eleven p.m. to escort you to The Burrow, where you have been invited to spend the remainder of your school holidays.  
__If you are agreeable, I should also be glad of your assistance in a matter to which I hope to attend to on the way to The Burrow. I shall explain this more fully when I see you.  
__Kindly send your answer by return of this owl. Hoping to see you this Friday,_

_I am, yours most sincerely,  
__Albus Dumbledore_

For once, Harry was not very glad to have a chance at leaving number 4! This offer would mean an extra six weeks of skirting around the issue. Chewing his quill in deep thought, Harry penned his reply to the esteemed headmaster.

* * *

I should have another chapter up next week (i plan to update this story every wednesday!).

Untill then,

TTFN


	3. Letter Interludes

Headmaster,

I am very grateful for the correspondence, and would be happy to help you out in any way I can. I realise that I have not yet apologised for my actions at the end of last term – let me offer them now and I hope nothing was damaged that cannot be replaced. I would be happy to pay for any damage, just tell me how much I owe you, sir. However, I cannot leave home just yet. Would you please relay the message to the Weasleys, and let them know that although I am exceedingly grateful to them, I must decline their offer until a later date. I would love to spend the last week before school starts again at their house, and I hope to here from you if you would like my help on Friday evening, or indeed any other time.

Harry Potter

He signed the letter, and sent it off with the bird that brought the welcome news. It was only afterwards that he realised he hadn't asked about owling Ron or Hermione to let them know he was ok. He also forgot about Remus.

Sirius…

No! I wont think about it – I can't.

Steeling himself, Harry wrote another letter to Dumbledore, and sent it off in trepidation, hoping it was allowed and that Hedwig would not be harmed by some unknown wards.

Headmaster,

I now realise that I failed to ask some key questions in my last letter, and to answer some too!

I am fine, and actually having the first good summer holiday in a long time. Aunt petunia has let me eat whatever I want, whenever I want, as long as I cook it. Could you please tell Professor Lupin if you see him? Oh yes, please say that I am actually a good cook!

I am very wary of sending this owl – I haven't received any save for the daily prophet and I do hope I am allowed to. If I may owl my friends, could you perhaps tell them that I miss them and am allowed to receive owls?

Also, if you don't mind and can and everything, could I have a book to read on Occlumency – I didn't get much instruction last year, and I am planning on asking for more lessons, but I would like a reference point. Even if Occlumency doesn't keep Voldemort out of y head, I can't help thinking the talent could be useful in other ways. I have heard that it helps keep the mind organised, and a well-organised mind can only help in life!

Thank you very much for reading, and I hope to hear form you or Remus soon,

Your,

Harry Potter.

I have to go to sleep now as it is nearing 11 and I have to be up at 8 tomorrow. Sorry about the shortness, but the next part wouldn't really fit with all the letters.


	4. What The ?

Harry sat back down on his creaky old bed, and thought about something, rather, some_one_ who he hadn't thought of before. Normally, his attention was on the veil, Him, Him2 or studying. Sometimes he thought about Dumbledore too. For example, why did he always do what the headmaster told him to, but got angry with Ron and Hermione when they did the same last year? Harry obeyed the headmaster, but when his friends kept secrets on the old man's orders, he was livid with them. The boy put it down to hormones. Albus Dumbledore was _only_ his headmaster; he had no right to dictate when he came and went within privet drive. Privet drive, which was slowly becoming home to Harry – his relatives had shown none of their usual hostility, instead leaving him to be on his own. As he wrote to Dumbledore, he was allowed to eat whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted, so he wasn't losing the weight he put on during school term.

Harry was not always skinny – during term time, with three regular meals everyday, and snacks too, he had filled out quite a lot. That happened every year, but usually, when he got back to surrey, he returned to his half-starved state. The summer, he wasn't ever hungry, but he had the sense to know that he should still eat at least two meals. So he did. Harry Potter, who had been learning to cook since he was about eight, was finally getting to eat what he wanted. When Aunt Petunia did the shopping, Harry put his list of groceries at the bottom of hers, and unloaded them into 'his kitchen cupboard'. It was the smallest on in the large kitchen, and he only had one shelf in the fridge, but at least Dudley knew better than to poke his fat head inside.

Today though, after sending off those letters, he thought about the last marauder. Prongs and Padfoot were dead and Wormtail was as if dead to both Harry and Remus. Only moony was left, and Harry knew that he didn't know the old pranksters well as he wanted to. Sirius had been like a brother to Remus, and Harry had over looked that when trying not to think about Him. He resolved to Owl Remus when Dumbledore let him.

There it was again – _when Dumbledore let him_. Why did he let himself be governed like that? Deep inside, Harry knew that answer – Albus Dumbledore was the only man Voldemort had ever feared, and head of the Order of the Phoenix. He had power, and experience, that Harry recognised and respected. Even if he didn't want to, Harry knew it was important to continue obeying the headmaster's wishes for the time being.

Resolved to Owl the last marauder when Hedwig got back, the teenage hero started back on the books. In the two weeks he had been back at privet drive, Harry had gone through the curriculum up to sixth year – the next year would be extremely easy for him now! He didn't have any more books, and he couldn't practise his spells away from school, so what more could he do? The boy looked out of his bedroom window, and saw two young boys in the back garden next to number four. They were sword fighting with what looked like sticks … _sticks_! Harry had a sudden brainwave – he couldn't practise his spells with his wand, but what would stop him practising the movements with a stick from the garden? There would be no magic used, but he could still make sure he could cast quickly and easily. The boy wondered vaguely why he had never thought of it before during his long summers of revision. Then again, in the other years, he was locked in his room, and when he wasn't, he had had chores to do, unlike now.

It would be another year and two weeks until he could use magic at home … _did I just refer to privet drive as 'home'?_ thought the boy incredulously. The two weeks of civil behaviour must have really been getting to him! Potter had never had a real home before. He had school, the burrow, Grimmauld place, and a house in Surrey, which he previously hated. When did that house become home? He supposed it was when his relatives started to leave him alone.

He shook his head, as if violently disagreeing with the notion of this place being home, and went to fetch a stick. He didn't bother to go quietly, or fast, knowing that Vernon and Dudley were out and petunia wouldn't bother to find out what he was up to. In the garden, the Dursley's had a large apple tree, meaning that there was no shortage of wood to choose from. However, Harry didn't know if the silent treatment would remain if he 'stole' a twig from the beautiful old tree – you could never be too sure with the Dursley's. Just to be safe, he picked up an old stick from the ground, dried it on his T-shirt sleeve and took it back up to his room. It was about 30cm long, so only one or two inches shorter that his real wand – perfect.

The boy decided just to start right then – the first spell he ever learnt.

_Swish and Flick_ "Wingardium Leviosa"

The book levitated.


	5. Stomach Gym

'Thoughts' (mostly anyway)

"Speech"

* * *

Harry stared in shock at his floating spell book – he wasn't using a wand, but he was still doing magic. MAGIC … underage … he was going to be expelled … insert swear word of your choice. He broke the spell, opened his bedroom window, and sat down to wait for the owl he knew was coming.

At the hearing he had last year, the judge said he was clear of all charges – did that include the summer before second year? 'Yes', he decided. 'Yes, it does'

"So I wont be expelled at least," he breathed. The nervous boy sat for half an hour before getting bored and picking up another book. Through his worry, he lost himself in the world of middle earth. The wizard had found some muggle fiction on the shelves in his room, and during times when he wasn't studying, he had read _the hobbit_ and was now on the second chapter of _The fellowship of the ring_. It was very enjoyable, and by the time he was halfway through the book, all thought of underage magic had been expelled form his mind.

When he next looked up, it was past noon, and the teenager was very hungry. He had eaten a small bowl of cereal very early this morning, and even if he hadn't done too much work today, the boy was now used to eating three good meals everyday. He replaced the book on his old desk – he fixed it on the second day back at Privet Drive. The boy crept downstairs, stepping over the creaky step so that Dudley would not notice him. Although Dudley no longer chased him, or beat him up, he obese teenager was still a great annoyance to his cousin. Normally, he two boys tried to avoid each other like the plague, and today was no exception to that.

Harry unlocked 'his cupboard' and started to cook a simple pasta dish. That's to his freedom of eating, he could et whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted, using whatever appliance was needed – as long as he didn't get in the was of the Dursley's regimented eating times.

Breakfast: 7 – 8

Lunch: 12 – 1

Dinner: 6 – 8

Even if Dudley was still on a diet (and actually sticking to it), he still wouldn't turn down any food – hence the lock on Harry's food cupboard. Aunt Petunia still gave her son anything he wanted, except food. This led her to buy Harry a lock, because he was no longer restricted to diet foods. He kept one key under the loose floorboard, and the other was at the bottom of his trunk. Not even aunt petunia could get inside his cupboard.

After eating, Harry went back up to his room, intent on actually studying this afternoon. As he walked slowly back upstairs, he thought about voiced and voiceless spells. Then he remembered the events of that morning, and realised that he never did get that owl from the ministry. Sure, with a new minister, they must be in some difficulty especially with Voldemort terrorising the muggle world. Still … Harry thought they would still have the time to send owls to underage students.

He went inside, and felt as if his stomach was doing gymnastics. There, sitting on his bed was a regal looking owl, with a letter in its beak. Hedwig wasn't back yet.


	6. Here We Go Again

His legs turned to jelly, and his heart was pounding a million times every second. The sound pulsed in his ears, his hands shook, and his forehead was damp with perspiration.

Walking shakily over to his bed, Harry Potter went over all possible scenarios in his head.

"It might not be a ministry owl" he tried to keep himself calm; it wasn't working very well.

"Think what the headlines would say," sneered a little voice in his mind – it sounded remarkably like Cho Chang.

"The press would have a field day!" Gasped Harry, then another voice interjected.

"Harry Potter Expelled" sang Rita Skeeter, "Ooooh! How juicy – Harry what do you have to say on the subject?" Harry was sweating more and more every minute – what would he do without his magic? Hogwarts was like a second home to him. 'There it is again – Hogwarts isn't my first home anymore … I wonder why?' He shook himself out of his thoughts, and focused on the situation at hand.

"Oh … is the ickle baby Potterkins scared?" asked Bellatrix Lestrange.

"Oh God, I'm hearing voices again, and I know there aren't any snakes around this time. I'm really going insane now! Okay, lets see, I have an evil wizard after me, I'm being expelled and I am going mad; could my life get any worse?" the boy paused, and then quoted an old friend – "I shouldn't have said that." Thinking of some more colourful language he had learnt at Hogwarts, the young man relieved the bird of its burden.

They say your life flashes before your eyes when you die, or are near death. Perhaps this is true, perhaps not. We may never know the truth to this, just as we may never know if there is life after death or not. Life is not a fantasy, and those who die cannot live again in that way. Whether you believe in rebirth, heaven, hell or even the living force, we all know that life is lived just once before it changes forever. Perhaps we do go onto another world, another plane of existence, or maybe we are reborn with no memory of our previous life. Either way, those who have gone through the journey cannot tell us what to expect, cannot reassure us that everything will turn out for the best. Those who have their lives flash before them cannot tell us the truth of untruth of the myth; the people whom may have experienced it cannot disillusion us.

They say your life flashes before your eyes when you die, or are near death. Perhaps this is the truth; maybe it is a lie. Either way, Harry Potter saw the last five years at Hogwarts come and go. His time was up; he was going to be expelled, and for him, that was the equivalent of being killed. Hogwarts was Harry's life. Without it, he might still be in that dreaded cupboard. Without it, he couldn't be trained to defeat Voldemort. Without Hogwarts … Harry Potter's life would be meaningless.

He would be expelled…

Get sent to Azkaban for committing such a crime…

He was innocent – just like Him.

Just like Sirius.

Suddenly, Harry's legs buckled, and he fell in a heap on the dirty carpeting of his room. The letter fell away from his hands as he curled up into a small ball, releasing everything he had been bottling up inside. The balled teenager wept for the last remaining person he had loved. As he cried, he remembered all of those happy times they spent together over the last summer holidays and at Christmas.

… How Sirius' face would light up when Harry came into the room …

… The first time Sirius hugged him …

… The first time Harry hugged Sirius …

… The last time they had hugged each other …

The boy shook his head, as more tears spilt out of him, as if he was trying to remove the memories from his head. It only served to bring another forceful wave forward, as if spurred on by his thoughts of getting rid of them.

… Sirius singing at the top of his lungs …

… Harry joining in …

… The pranks they pulled on Gred and Forge …

That fabulous prank war that everyone seemed to get into.


	7. Prank War

Padfoot/Snuffles padded upstairs as quietly as he could – much more silent than Sirius could ever hope to be. In his jaws was the handle of a bucket; filled with very cold water. The bucket had charms on it to make it weightless and unspillable. As soon as it was placed, Sirius would remove the charms, and replace them to ensure that it would remain ice cold, and invisible. Muggles might have great pranking ideas, but magic made them much more effective.

The next morning, at just passed nine O'clock, twin screams resonated through the halls of Grimmauld Place. That sound in turn woke Mrs. Black, and she began to scream too. Someone jumped out and began to drag the heavy curtain over Sirius' mother, and as they did so saw Fred and George (George and Fred) Weasley running around on the floor above, screaming and soaking wet. The unfortunate man sniggered rather loudly, and sadly (for him – it was hilarious for everyone else) was at the receiving end of Gred's (or Forge's) wand. The order member grimaced – Gred and Forge (Forge and Gred) might still be in Hogwarts, but they were a formidable force, one not to be trifled with.

Varth Dader walked around number 12 Grimmauld Place with a tail sticking out of his backside for the rest of the week.

The morning after this … _interesting_ … event, it was repeated. This time, it was Harry Potter and Sirius Black who were screaming and cold, and Remus Lupin made the mistake of laughing at them. Between them, the pranksters might only have one wand and one overage member, but the wandless man wasn't a marauder for nothing.

Remus Lupin's hair flashed different colours for a week.

Thus marked the beginning of a prank war, and anyone caught in the middle was liable to be seen doing very strange things for any length of time, from a minute, to an hour – some were even afflicted for a day or more. One unnamed man (he was an extra, so he died in the next battle they had) was seen with an entourage of monkeys; and he was talking to them in their 'language'. Another extra (she got a whole line, and then died from a mosquito bite) who happened to be deadly afraid of snakes received a head full of them when she tried to prevent one particular prank. No one was safe.

The main two teams were:

Harry, Ron, Sirius, Remus

George, Fred, Ginny, Hermione

However, when the rest of the Order of the Phoenix grew tired of being pranked, two ore teams grew:

Dumbledore and Snape

Everyone else in the order

However, they were liable to change every now and again. Ron and Ginny especially tended to swap sides, so you had to be careful their. Or course, then Remus and Sirius concocted a plan that Harry 'changed sides' for a day, and planted all sorts of time released pranks on the unsuspecting opponents.

The war lasted for four weeks, and by the end of it, all the kids wanted to go back to school and start doing more pranking, but that was Gred and Forge's (Forge and Gred's) territory – the others would have to wait for next year. And wait they would indeed. Look out Hogwarts, because the Junior Marauders had an entire notebook filled with possible pranking ideas, and had help from two of the originals. Fred and George (George and Fred) never had such a thing. They pranked when they felt like it, and always used food to do so – they didn't know many useful spells in that regard.

All in all, the whole affair was a great way to remember Christmas 1995.


	8. Acceptance

Now, certain people (cough Ellie cough cough) mentioned that they thought there should be less thoughts and emotions and stuff, but really that isn't what the story is about. I know what it is like, to be in a situation vaguely similar to Harry's, and like him, I didn't show any emotion until I was by my self. When it got to the funeral, I couldn't cry, because there were too many other people there. I haven't cried in public since I was about nine, and I imagine Harry to be quite similar in that trait.

What we saw in the last couple of chapters was a teenager trying and failing to be strong once he was alone. He let everything go. That is the point of this story, and the action will probably not increase, but chapter lengths probably will. I have no idea!

Thanks to everyone who had reviewed, and in advance to all those people who will!

"_Noooooo!"_

_Sirius fell_

_Harry was grabbed from behind_

_Harry yelled_

"_Noooooo!"_

_Sirius fell_

_Harry was grabbed from behind_

_Harry yelled_

"_Noooooo!"_

Harry had seen that terrible day over and over again in his dreams. Sirius was falling again and again; Harry never could save him.

Somehow, these nightmares gave him a fresh perspective, a more objective view of the whole event – he watched the events unfold like a muggle film, or a Quidditch match. It happened over and over again, each time beginning once more as Remus restrained Harry-in-the-memory. It occurred to the teen, that it was somewhat like a pensive – he was able to see the memory, but not interfere with it in any shape, way or form.

The first few times, Harry watched in shock, and then he fell to his knees and cried once more. He didn't know that his physical body was reacting in the same way, nor did he realise just how much time was spent 'dreaming'.

When Harry finally accepted that he couldn't change anything that happened to Sirius, he woke up, tears spent and his mind resolute. When Harry came to, he found himself lying on the floor in his room. The letter was by his side, and the pompous looking owl has gone – probably to hunt; it was dark outside. Harry had spent the entire afternoon reminiscing and asleep. No wonder he was so very awake and eager to do something.

He was still terrified about the letter, but he knew he had to get it over and done with as soon as he could bear to.

Harry had no emotion left – he felt nothing as he picked up the thick parchment. The teenager had burnt every emotion away as he mourned for his lost godfather and parents. Even if he had wanted to, he wouldn't have been able to shed another single tear.

It was still left unopened by his side, and so Harry got together every bit of Gryffindor courage he possibly could, and reached for it. He sat on the floor, mindful of his aching knees – they still hurt from falling, due to the … panic attack? His fingers shock, and he could hear his blood pumping in his ears. Still, he opened the letter.

Dear Mr Potter,

………………………………

tee hee! A bit of suspence. Will Harry be expelled or not? Only time will tell – for you (I already know…). Reviews _might_ help me decide to post quicker, but if not … see you in a week or so.

sorry about the lateness, but i wrote the next few chapters on paper, and then lost them - this isnt the original, that was longer ...


	9. Dear Mr Potter

_Dear Mr Potter, _

_Thank you for your swift reply to my previous letter. I have relayed your messages to the appropriate people, and yes, you may owl them as you wish. Should you not trust owl post for fear of unsavoury members of the public intercepting your post, I am sure the bird watching club would be happy to play postman for you. They will look after you in the absence of your parents – especially the ones who loved your recently departed dog. Without him there to guard you, you must be extra careful about strangers, in these dark times, no one can be too careful._

_Whilst on the very broad subject of our bird club, I would like to inform you that regretfully, there have been no unusual sightings of yet. Some people have jested that they may be having gatherings of there own, and plotting to avoid us! Personally I believe them to be paranoid, however, we have one eye always on the look out – after-all, as a previous teacher said "Constant Vigilance" (though not many people would attribute that phrase to bird watching!). However, we have taken those words to heart – and now have watchers at the nest day and night. Some people believe bird watching to be very monotonous, but it can be quite invigorating when you finally catch that elusive one – I know the feeling well. _

_Do you remember your (unwanted) visit after the events last year, that tree is where the main nest has been placed! You found it for us! We have watchers there day and night, even though some people think we are wasting our time. We done – we may have to induct you if you keep up the good work – though you must remember that if you were to join, you _would_ need to accept taking orders. We wouldn't want you to get lonely, so we were also thinking about the others who went on that field trip last month. The day may have been a sad one, but now we know that you can identify some of the elusive birds I was talking about earlier. You all might be inducted at the same time, and keep an eye on the chicks for us – they are more trusting of younger people and we believe they may 'lurk' in the grounds at school._

_Well, see what you think of the idea, and if your guardians agree, I will take you out to dinner on Friday to discuss the idea more fully and with an old friend of mine, if you don't mind. Tell your family not to worry – you will be back on Saturday afternoon and can spend the night at a friend's house. We shall leave promptly at 10 pm, if that agrees with your family of course._

_I have included the book you asked for, and it is an admirable idea – to a well-organised mind, death is the next adventure after all._

_On that note, I shall leave this letter, and hope to see you in two days – if not, please owl me or pass a message through your aunt; she knows haw to contact me._

_Albus Dumbledore._

Harry looked up, his head spinning. When the stars stopped their seemingly continuous orbit of his head, in was in possession of several facts.

Owl Post was not to be trusted.

The Order was watching him – specifically Remus and Tonks.

The Order was watching Riddle house.

He was going out on Friday night, and would be staying at the Burrow that night.

He and his friends could be inducted to watch the students.

There hasn't been much Death Eater activity

Moody thought they were planning something.

Dumbledore couldn't half waffle! Wait …

DUMBLEDORE!

It wasn't from the Ministry after all!

Harry was so happy, he did a little jig before going back to the letter. Re-reading its contents, he deduced all of the coded messages, and then went to his desk and wrote a reply. Deep in thought, Harry wandered downstairs, where he opened the front door and stood in the doorway for a while. Then he went back inside.

Had anyone been looking closely, they may have seen the dark haired boy drop some paper on the floor, but the non-existent stranger would have then shaken his (or her) head, and carried on doing whatever he (or she) was doing. After all, paper doesn't just disappear like that … does it?

Up in his room, Harry potter froze once more as another owl came swooping in.


	10. Fear

Up in his room, Harry Potter froze once more as another owl came swooping in. And another, two more, a few more – what was this, an owl festival?

All the owls were unknowns, and Harry felt the fear rise up in him once more. The all too familiar sense of dread was rising up like bile; Harry felt physically sick at the thought of expulsion. In his first year, after they had met Fluffy for the first time, Hermione had said that being expelled was worse than death. At the time, Harry and Ron had thought her to be mad, but now, Harry wasn't too sure – he had faced death more times than he could count on one hand, and never felt this type of real fear, like now. The only thing that came close was the Dementors, but he knew how to counter them, so they weren't much of a threat anymore.

Thinking of the Dementors, Harry remembered what his Bogart was – fear. What Harry feared most was, in fact … fear. That may be impressive to some people, but to Harry, it just signified another weakness; Harry could quite easily be paralysed by fear, and it scared him. He scoffed at himself internally; disgusted that he was more scared of being expelled than of dying.

The boy came to his senses quickly, and realised that it had been the adrenalin rush that took the place of fear, and Hermione had been (and still was) **mental**! All those times, after the events, he had had nightmares, and was absolutely terrified – death was just as scary as it ever had been, and expulsion wasn't quite so bad as it seemed to start with.

The young man swallowed hard, licked his paper-dry lips, and reached for the first envelope …

I think I've been mean enough for now…

… and breathed a sigh of relief – feeling rather foolish.

Once Harry had sorted through that massive amount of mail, it was well into Thursday morning, and he was still grinning, still refreshed from his impromptu nap earlier. The letters were from the various bookshops, and all the owls were needed to carry the vast amount of books he had ordered a few days before.

Now he could really get started!

At three a.m. Harry called it a day, and went to sleep.

He woke to his aunt's screech of

"GET UP!" just about five hours later (his family might have been being nicer, but they still hated him). Nearly fifteen years of practise meant that he immediately jumped out of bed and began to get dressed. It was only after he was half way down the stairs and thinking about what to cook for Dudley that he remembered something very important.

"I don't have to!" and he went back upstairs.

The young wizard sat at the repaired desk, and remembered all of yesterday's events. He had done magic, underage and out of school, and the Ministry of Magic _still_ hadn't sent an owl.

"Maybe they wont…

"That's it! They wont send one, because it wasn't wand magic! I could ask Moony about that"

_Dear Professor Moony,_

_I have been thinking a lot recently, and going back over my time at Hogwarts. There is one thing that I don't understand though – when Dobby did magic, why was I blamed? This was during the summer of 1992. _

_Thanks!_

_Prongslet._

As before, the boy discretely dropped the parchment on the ground, before trudging back up to his room. He wanted to have finished the book on Occlumency before Friday evening, and looking at the number of pages and size of print, that would be a tall order.

Talking of Friday, he really needed to ask permission to go – he would go anyway, but it was just the polite thing to do!


	11. Friday

"Aunt Petunia?"

"What is it, brat?" Harry was not holding out any hope on being allowed to go, but it seemed less likely now that she was calling him a brat again …

"My headmaster would like to take me out to dinner tomorrow night to discuss some … school issues. He will come through normal means, and then I can sleep at my friend Ron's house and come back home Saturday afternoon. Please may I go?"

"And what time will you be leaving tomorrow, then?" Harry could not believe what he was hearing. His aunt might actually be letting him go with Dumbledore!

"At … 'promptly ten pm' it says on the letter. Please may I go?"

"N – yes." It was said reluctantly, but Harry didn't care – he still counted it as a victory, even if it was probably fear that made her agree. Harry still sniggered when he thought about how pale Petunia's face went when she saw Moody's eye, and Tonks' multi-coloured hair. He owed them big time for this.

Harry rushed through the housework that Thursday and Friday, longing to spend more time reading the Occlumency book. At 930 Friday night, he turned the last page with relief, now knowing more about the subject than he thought he ever would. Next week, he would work on the exercises given, and only after his mind was completely shielded would he start reading his other new books; Occlumency was far more important than grades.

He looked at the clock, his eyes widening when he saw the time. He was most definitely not ready to meet his headmaster, but it wouldn't take long to get ready – he only had to throw some decent clothes on.

He picked out his best robes – the ones that actually fit him still – and realised that they didn't fit either.

"Damn!"

He had to go with Dudley's cast-offs then … well, at least he was ready then!

Ten minutes to go …

'Waiting is so boring'

Five minutes to go …

'I can't stand this much longer'

Two minutes to go …

It wasn't worth it. Harry got up and went downstairs, thinking that maybe if he was ready to just walk out of the door, his family would be more agreeable when he got home tomorrow evening!

"Thank you, Aunt Petunia for letting me go. I think he is coming by normal means, so don't worry about the nieghbors, and I'll see you tomorrow." With that, fifteen year old Harry Potter walked outside the house to wait for his headmaster.

He wasn't disappointed when his teacher walked down the road, whistling an old muggle nursry rhyme, his waist-length silver beard tucked into his belt and wearing a long black cloak and a pointed hat. The cloak could have passed as a muggle travelling coat, but Harry knew better, and wondered if maybe he should have tried harder to fit into his wizarding clothes. No matter – it was done now, and nothing more could be said on the subject.

"Good evening, Harry!"

Harry, feeling rather nervous (he had never spoken to the headmaster out of school before) replied with the usual mumble, looking at the toes of his scuffed trainers, wondering what the headmaster was really doing here.

"I shall assume then that you grew tired of waiting, and chose to come outside out of choice rather than out of necessity, shall I?"

"Yes Sir, I just thought it would be better for my family if I waited outside instead of inside, Sir." If the older man had thought it strange that Harry had referred to the Dursleys as his family rather than 'the Dursleys', he did not show it. His eyes twinkled as they usually did, and he smiled serenely at the teenager beside him.

"Well then, my boy. What do you say we get some dinner as I said in the Leaky Cauldron, then?" And he held out his arm to the confused Harry next to him. Feeling rather bewildered, The-Boy-Who-Lived took the offered arm, and found himself feeling as though he was being pressed from all directions. He couldn't breathe, and every aprt of him was being compressed further and further inside.

And then it was over, and Harry felt that he could breathe once more. Discretely checking that all of his body parts were still attached, before realising that actually, it felt similar to how he presumed a roller coaster did, and it was quite enjoyable, once you got over the fact that you had just moved from one place to another in the blink of an eye.

"Are you alright?" asked Dumbledore, looking down at him solicitously. "The sensation does take some getting used to."

"I'm fine, Sir! It was quite good actually. Was that Apparition? I thought you had to be seventeen?"

"Yes it was, and yes you do, so that was side-along Apparition, which you do not need to be seventeen for. Well, here we are, The Leaky Cauldron."

And so they were, Harry had not even noticed!


	12. Horrace Slughorn

There was some confusion about the prank war thing in chapter seven. It's a flash-back that signifies all the good things that happened to Harry and Sirius. Sorry if that wasn't clear enough, and thanks to _Spots on a Pony_ for pointing it out. The poem is now by itself too and at some point,I will go through my writing again to look for spelling and stuff, butI did thinkI was being quite careful ...

* * *

In a private parlour in the Leaky Cauldron, Professor Dumbledore finally explained himself to Harry over a small dinner. 

"Well, Harry, a difficulty has arisen which I hope you will be able to solve for us. By _us_, I mean the Order of the Phoenix. But first of all I must tell you that Sirius's will was discovered a week ago and that he left you everything he owned."

Harry showed no great visable reaction, the pain was written in his eyes, but he was not holding onto the dead 'Good' thought Dumbledore.

"This is, in the main, fairly straightforward. You add a reasonable amount of gold to your account at Gringotts, and you inherit all of Sirius's personal possessions. The slightly problematic part of the legacy… Our problem is that Sirius also left you number twelve, Grimmauld Place"

"Oh! You can keep using it as headquarters, I don't care. You can have it, I don't really want it." Harry spoke for the first time sonce they had entered the building.

"That is generous. We have, however, vacated the building temporarily. Black family tradition decreed that the house was handed down the direct line, to the next male with the name of 'Black'. Sirius was the very last of the line as his younger brother, Regulus, predeceased him and both were childless. While his will makes it perfectly plain that he wants you to have the house, it is nevertheless possible that some spell or enchantment has been set upon the place to ensure that it cannot be owned by anyone other than a pureblood."

"I would bet on that, Sir; it's just the thing that those inbred fools would do!" Harry was becoming more outspoken with every passing minute.

"Quite. And if such an enchantment exists, then the ownership of the house is most likely to pass to the eldest of Sirius's living relatives, which would mean his cousin, Bellatrix Lestrange" Harry's fists clenched, and he swallowed his potato rather forcefully, but said nothing more.

"We would, of course, prefer that she didn't get it, however, the situation is fraught with complications. We do not know whether the enchantments we ourselves have placed upon it, for example, making it Unplottable, will hold now that ownership has passed from Sirius's hands. It might be that Bellatrix will arrive on the doorstep at any moment. Naturally we had to move out until such time as we have clarified the position."

"And how do you propose to test that?"

"Well, that is the simple part. You see, if you have indeed inherited the house, you have also inherited"

He stopped eating to flick his wand, when Harry saw his hand for the first time that evening.

"Sir," he was stopped by a loud bang, and the appearance of a house elf with a snout for a nose, giant bat's ears, and enormous bloodshot eyes, crouching on the carpet and covered in grimy rags.

"Kreacher won't, Kreacher won't, Kreacher won't! Kreacher belongs to Miss Bellatrix, oh yes, Kreacher belongs to the Blacks, Kreacher wants his new mistress, Kreacher won't go to the Potter brat, Kreacher won't, won't, won't …"

"As you can see, Harry, Kreacher is showing a certain reluctance to pass into your ownership"

Harry's eyes, narrowed in contempt, still haven't left the old house-elf. "I don't care. I don't want him."

"_Won't, won't, won't, won't—_"

"You would prefer him to pass into the ownership of Bellatrix Lestrange? Bearing in mind that he has lived at the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix for the past year?"

The words had their desired effect. Harry could not, in good conscience, let this elf (on whom both wizards present dearly wished to cast a silencing spell) go into enemy hands.

"Give him an order. If he has passed into your ownership, he will have to obey. If not, then we shall have to think of some other means of keeping him from his rightful mistress."

Harry's brow creased, first in thought, then in annoyance, then –

"Kreacher, shut up!"

Silence. Blessed silence.

"Well, that simplifies matters. It seems that Sirius knew what he was doing. You are the rightful owner of number twelve, Grimmauld Place and of Kreacher."

"Do I – do I have to keep him with me?" 'Can I kill him' the thought was left unsaid, where Harry knew it would be best kept.

"Not if you don't want to." Relief washed over the boy's face. "If I might make a suggestion, you could send him to Hogwarts to work in the kitchen there. In that way, the other house-elves could keep an eye on him."

"Yeah, I'll do that. Kreacher, go to Hogwarts to work there, and you are not to talk to anyone or any_thing,_" Harry knew he would find a way around that one "other than my self, headmaster Dumbledore or Dobby who works in the Hogwarts kitchens." That should keep the Order secrets safe; Dobby would never betray Harry, and the boy knew the Kreacher had to have someone to talk to other than the two wizards.

Kreacher, who was now lying flat on his back with his arms and legs in the air, gave Harry one upside-down look of deepest loathing and, with another loud crack, vanished.

"Good, well done. There is also the matter of the Hippogriff, Buckbeak. Hagrid has been looking after him since Sirius died, but Buckbeak is yours now, so if you would prefer to make different arrangements –"

"No, no of course not! He can stay with Hagrid. I think Buckbeak would prefer that, as would Hagrid."

"Incidentally, we have decided, in the interests of Buckbeak's safety, to rechristen him 'Witherwings' for the time being, though I doubt that the Ministry would ever guess he is the hippogriff they once sentenced to death."

Harry smiled at the headmaster, and then remembered the old man's hand. It was blackened and shrivelled; it looked as though his flesh had been burned away.

"Sir — what happened to your — ?"

"So tell me, Harry," said Dumbledore, before he could finish. "Your scar ... has it been hurting at all?"

Harry raised a hand unconsciously to his forehead and rubbed the lightning-shaped mark.

"No," he said, "and I've been wondering about that. I thought it would be burning all the time now Voldemort's getting so powerful again."

He glanced up at Dumbledore and saw that he was wearing a satisfied expression.

"I, on the other hand, thought otherwise," said Dumbledore. "Lord Voldemort has finally realized the dangerous access to his thoughts and feelings you have been enjoying. It appears that he is now employing Occlumency against you."

"Well, I'm not complaining," said Harry, who missed neither the disturbing dreams nor the startling flashes of insight into Voldemort's mind. "Although I can't wait until I can do the same!"

"And have you started to read the book I sent you?" Harry could tell that the headmaster didn't think he would have even started the large book, let alone finished it!

"Of course, sir. In fact, I finished it today" he didn't mention that he only finished it about an hour ago.

"Well, I must say I am impressed, Harry. Well done, and I hope to see you keeping up the good work. Your NEWTs will be here before you know it." Harry could not believe that the old man was talking about NEWTs already – he hadn't even got his OWL results back yet!

And so the conversation continued, until nearly midnight, when all of the food had been cleared away, and Harry found himself being led out of the pub and back to the Apparition area.

Harry gripped Dumbledore's proffered forearm.

"Very good," said Dumbledore. "Well, here we go."

Harry felt Dumbledore's arm twist away from him and redoubled his grip; when he opened his still streaming eyes he and Dumbledore were now standing in what appeared to be a deserted village square, in the center of which stood an old war memorial and a few benches.

Dumbledore smiled, drew his traveling cloak a little more lightly around his neck, and said, "This way."

He set off at a brisk pace, past an empty inn and a few houses. According to a clock on a nearby church, it was almost midnight.

They turned a corner, passing a telephone box and a bus shelter. Harry looked sideways at Dumbledore again. "Professor?"

"Harry?"

"Er — where exactly are we?"

"This, Harry, is the charming village of Budleigh Babberton."

"And what are we doing here?"

"Ah yes, of course, I haven't told you," said Dumbledore. "Well, I have lost count of the number of times I have said this in recent years, but we are, once again, one member of staff short. We are here to persuade an old colleague of mine to come out of retirement and return to Hogwarts."

"How can I help with that, sir?" ¦

"Oh, I think we'll find a use for you," said Dumbledore vaguely. "Left here, Harry."

They proceeded up a steep, narrow street lined with houses. All the windows were dark. The odd chill that had lain over Privet Drive for two weeks persisted here too. Thinking of dementors, Harry cast a look over his shoulder and grasped his wand reassuringly in his pocket.

"Professor, why couldn't we just Apparate directly into your old colleague's house?"

"Because it would be quite as rude as kicking down the front door," said Dumbledore. "Courtesy dictates that we offer fellow wizards the opportunity of denying us entry. In any case, most Wizarding dwellings are magically protected from unwanted Apparators. At Hogwarts, for instance —"

"— you can't Apparate anywhere inside the buildings or grounds," said Harry quickly. "Hermione Granger told me."

"And she is quite right. We turn left again."

The church clock chimed midnight behind them. Harry wondered why Dumbledore did not consider it rude to call on his old colleague so late, but didn't really wish to say anything – it wad Dumbledore who knew the man, not him.

"This is the place, Harry, just here. . . ."

They were nearing a small, neat stone house set in its own garden, but as they reached the front gate, Dumbledore stopped dead and Harry walked into him.

"Oh dear. Oh dear, dear, dear."

Harry followed his gaze up the carefully tended front path and felt his heart sink. The front door was hanging off its hinges.

And so they entered the house of Horace Slughorn …

you can read this out of the book, it's chapter three.

Harry wasn't sure whether he liked Slughorn or not. He supposed he had been pleasant in his way, but he had also seemed vain and, whatever he said to the contrary, much too surprised that a Muggle-born should make a good witch.

"Horace," said Dumbledore, relieving Harry of the responsibility to say any of this, "likes his comfort. He also likes the company of the famous, the successful, and the powerful. He enjoys the feeling that he influences these people. He has never wanted to occupy the throne himself; he prefers the backseat — more room to spread out, you see. He used to handpick favorites at Hogwarts, some-limcs for their ambition or their brains, sometimes for their charm or their talent, and he had an uncanny knack for choosing those who would go on to become outstanding in their various fields. Horace formed a kind of club of his favorites with himself at the center, making introductions, forging useful contacts between members, and always reaping some kind of benefit in return, whether a free box of his favorite crystalized pineapple or the chance to recommend the next junior member of the Goblin liaison Office."

Harry had a sudden and vivid mental image of a great swollen spider, spinning a web around it, twitching a thread here and there to bring its large and juicy flies a little closer.

"I tell you all this," Dumbledore continued, "not to turn you against Horace — or, as we must now call him, Professor Slughorn — but to put you on your guard. He will undoubtedly try to collect you, Harry. You would be the jewel of his collection; 'the Boy Who Lived' ... or, as they call you these days, 'the Chosen One.'"

At these words, a chill that had nothing to do with the surrounding mist stole over Harry. He was reminded of the prophecy, but now also knew enough to realise, there was nothing he could do about it, and he may as well study as much as he could.

He _would_ defeat Voldemort, even if it was to be the last thing he ever did, and could help but thing that maybe if Slughorn _did_ try to collect him, it would be best to just play along, and see what happened – he had nothing to lose, only much to gain.

Dumbledore had stopped walking, level with the church they had passed earlier.

"This will do, Harry. If you will grasp my arm."

* * *

I'm nearly out of pre-written stuff, so the updates will be about once every week after the next chapter.


	13. The Burrow

When the pressure disappeared and he found himself able to breathe again, he was standing in a country lane beside Dumbledore and looking ahead to the crooked silhouette of his third favourite building in the world: the Burrow. Privet drive had been bumped up to second place, but Hogwarts was still first.

"If you don't mind, Harry," said Dumbledore, as they passed through the gate, "I'd like a few words with you before we part. In private. Perhaps in here?"

Dumbledore pointed toward a run-down stone outhouse where the Weasleys kept their broomsticks. A little puzzled, Harry followed Dumbledore through the creaking door into a space a little smaller than the average cupboard. Dumbledore illuminated the tip of his wand, so that it glowed like a torch, and smiled down at Harry.

"I hope you will forgive me for mentioning it, Harry, but I am pleased and a little proud at how well you seem to be coping after everything that happened at the Ministry. Permit me to say that I think Sirius would have been proud of you."

"Sir?"

"It was cruel," said Dumbledore softly, "that you and Sirius had such a short time together. A brutal ending to what should have been a long and happy relationship."

Harry nodded, his eyes fixed resolutely on the spider now climbing Dumbledore's hat.

"I'm fine about it, Sir. Really. While I was home, I realized a lot of stuff, and I'm fine. Sir." He added as an afterthought, fearing that he hadn't been as polite as he should have been. Really, it was none of Dumbledore's business, but it still made him feel better knowing that he cared.

The man did not seem to think so, and swiftly continued.

"And now, Harry, on a closely related subject ... I gather that you have been taking the Daily Prophet over the last two weeks?"

"Yes, Sir" said Harry, and his heartbeat a little faster. "And for the record sir, I didn't consent to anything they have been writing."

"Indeed. There have been not so much leaks as floods concerning your adventure in the Hall of Prophecy. However, there are only two people in the whole world who know the full contents of the prophecy made about you and Lord Voldemort, and they are both standing here.

"Now, I think I am correct in saying that you have not told anybody that you know what the prophecy said?"

"No," said Harry.

"A wise decision, on the whole," said Dumbledore. "Although I think you ought to relax it in favour of your friends, Mr. Ronald Weasley and Miss Hermione Granger. Yes," he continued, when Harry looked startled, "I think they ought to know. You do them a disservice by not confiding something this important to them."

"I didn't want —"

"— to worry or frighten them?" said Dumbledore, surveying Harry over the top of his half-moon spectacles.

Harry said nothing, but Dumbledore did not seem to require an answer. He continued,

"On a different, though related, subject, it is my wish that you take private lessons with me this year."

"Private — with you?" said Harry, surprised out of his preoccupied silence.

"Yes. I think it is time that I took a greater hand in your education."

"What will you be teaching me, sir?"

"Oh, a little of this, a little of that," said Dumbledore airily.

"Now, one more thing, Harry, before we part.

"I wish you to keep your Invisibility Cloak with you at all times from this moment onward. Even within Hogwarts itself. Just in case, you understand me?"

Harry nodded. "I understand,"

"Very well, then," said Dumbledore, pushing open the broom shed door and stepping out into the yard. "I see a light in the kitchen. Let us not deprive Molly any longer of the chance to deplore how thin you are. And I should not be surprised if you received your exam results tomorrow, or should I say, later this morning."

Harry and Dumbledore approached the back door of the Burrow, which was surrounded by the familiar litter of old Wellington boots and rusty cauldrons; Harry could hear the soft clucking of sleepy chickens coming from a distant shed. Dumbledore knocked three times and Harry saw sudden movement behind the kitchen window.

"Who's there?" said a nervous voice he recognized as Mrs. Weasley's. "Declare yourself!"

"It is I, Dumbledore, bringing Harry."

The door opened at once. There stood Mrs. Weasley, short, plump, and wearing an old green dressing gown.

"Harry, dear! Gracious, Albus, you gave me a fright, I thought you were to be back hours ago!"

"I apologise, Molly. It would seem that I miss-calculated. Ah, hello, Nymphadora!"

Harry looked around and saw that Mrs. Weasley was not alone, despite the lateness of the hour. A young witch with a pale, heart-shaped face and mousy brown hair was sitting at the table clutching a large mug between her hands.

"Hello, Professor," she said. " Wotcher, Harry."

"Hi, Tonks."

Harry thought she looked drawn, even ill, and there was something forced in her smile. Certainly her appearance was less colourful than usual without her customary shade of bubble-gum-pink hair.

"I'd better be off," she said quickly, standing up and pulling her cloak around her shoulders. "Thanks for the tea and sympathy, Molly"

"Please don't leave on my account," said Dumbledore courteously, "I cannot stay, I have urgent matters to discuss with Rufus Scrimgeour."

"No, no, I need to get going," said Tonks, not meeting Dumbledore's eyes.

"Oh come on Tonks! Please stay?" The witch looked startled, and slowly replied.

"Well, I suppose I could, if you want me to Harry …"

"Yes, yes I do. Please stay – I need to talk to you about … stuff"

Tonks just sat back down in reply, and poured herself another cup of tea.

"Well, I shall see you at Hogwarts, Harry," said Dumbledore. "Take care of yourself. Molly,"

He made Mrs. Weasley a bow and went back outside, before vanishing. Mrs. Weasley closed the door on the empty yard and then steered Harry by the shoulders into the full glow of the lantern on the table to examine his appearance.

"You're like Ron," she sighed, looking him up and down. "Both of you look as though you've had Stretching jinxes put on you. I swear Ron's grown four inches since I last bought him school robes. Are you hungry, Harry?"

"Oh, no, not really – I had a good lunch, and professor Dumbledore and I had dinner before we left."

"Well that's good then, now off up to bed with you, I've got Fred and George's room all ready for you, you'll have it to yourself."

"Why, where are they?"

"Oh, they're in Diagon Alley, sleeping in the little flat over their joke shop as they're so busy," said Mrs. Weasley. "I must say, I didn't approve at first, but they do seem to have a bit of a flair for business! Come on, dear."

"Wait! Tonks, I really do need to talk to you; come upstairs and we can talk in private." Tonks made to move out of the chair she was currently occupying, but Molly's voice stopped her in her tracks.

"I don't think –"

"Come on, Tonks!"

Harry took the confused metamorphous up to the room, completely ignoring Mrs. Weasley's cries of how inappropriate it was. Fred and George's bedroom was on the second floor. Mrs. Weasley pointed her wand at a lamp on the bedside table and it ignited at once, bathing the room in a pleasant golden glow. Though a large vase of flowers had been placed on a desk in front of the small window, their perfume could not disguise the lingering smell of what Harry thought was gunpowder. A considerable amount of floor space was devoted to a vast number of unmarked, sealed cardboard boxes; the room looked as though it was being used as a temporary warehouse.

When they were both settled on one of the beds comfortably (get your minds out of the gutter) Harry started the conversation he knew he would have to have sooner or later. It just happened to be sooner with Tonks, and later with Remus.

"Tonks, I want to talk to you … about Sirius"

An hour later, Harry bade Tonks good night, put on pajamas, and got into one of the beds. There was something hard inside the pillowcase. He groped inside it and pulled out a sticky purple-and-orange sweet, which he recognized as a Puking Pastille. Smiling to himself, he rolled over and was instantly asleep.


	14. The End

The End.

For those of you who haven't read my profile or the summaries of any of my stories, I can no longer write as I don't have the time. If you want the story, you can have it as long as I can beta for you. Thank you for reading and to those who reviewed, you made my day.


End file.
